


sometimes my tries are outside the lines

by boasamishipper



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen or Pre-Slash, Guns, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Written Pre-Island of the Lost Dakotas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 14:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boasamishipper/pseuds/boasamishipper
Summary: What started it all.





	sometimes my tries are outside the lines

Dakota stepped into the poorly-lit apartment, closely followed by Cavendish, who crossed the living room quickly and started to search the desk drawers. “No sign of the pistachios here,” he reported.

“No sign of them here either,” said Dakota, returning from his brief investigation of the kitchenette. No sign of any food, actually, which was strange. Had Cooper just not gone shopping recently? “Maybe we’ve got the wrong apartment.”

Cavendish scoffed. “I’m sure we have the correct apartment, Dakota. We did tail Cooper all the way here.”

Dakota rolled his eyes fondly at the pride in his partner’s voice. Truth be told he was happy too that they were on their way to actually accomplishing one of their missions, and this one seemed like one that would get them off pistachio duty forever: find Andrew Cooper, a rogue time traveler (armed and dangerous) who had stolen half a pound of pistachios from the year 2175, secure Cooper and the goods and return them both to the future. Dakota still didn’t understand why Cooper had chosen to hide himself in the early 2000s, but to each their own.

Dakota collapsed onto the couch, intending to relax for a moment before joining Cavendish in the search for the pistachios, but a loud crunch caused him to leap to his feet like the cushions had electrocuted him.

Going by the surprise on his face, Cavendish had heard it too. “What on earth?”

The two of them approached the couch and carefully lifted up a cushion. Much to Dakota’s surprise, there were the pistachios—rows and rows of plastic bags of them. He had worried briefly that the bags had been crushed but that wasn’t the case, thankfully.

The look on Cavendish’s face was so joyful that Dakota half expected their findings to be accompanied at any moment by an angelic choir. “We found them.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t such a tough nut to crack after all.” He waited. “Get it? Because they're—”

“Yes, Dakota, I get it.” But for once it seemed like Cavendish’s good mood couldn’t be tarnished by one of Dakota’s puns, and the man leapt to his feet. Pulling out a bag from who knew where—seriously, when had Cavendish started taking a leaf out of Milo’s book?—he and Dakota started to toss the little bags of pistachios into it. “One found, one to go.”

Dakota stood up, brushing the dust off the knees of his pants, and took the bag from Cavendish. “Maybe Cooper’s hiding somewhere here too.”

Judging by the sudden click from behind them, Dakota knew that he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

They turned around slowly, facing a very angry Andrew Cooper and the gun he was pointing directly at them. “So this is what the Bureau sends after me,” he said contemptuously. “A couple of low-level nobodies.”

“Nonetheless,” Cavendish said, sounding like he was trying not to be irritated by the slight against them, “we still found you, and I’m afraid that you’re going to have to come with us.”

Cooper laughed, and it was cold and cruel and sent Dakota’s gut into a pretzel-shaped twist. “I don’t think so,” he said. Then he clicked off the safety and pointed the gun straight at Dakota. “Goodbye.”

Before Dakota could do anything more than freeze, Cavendish lunged for the weapon and knocked Cooper to the ground. Cooper twisted, trying to throw Cavendish off as the pistol fired, the shot echoing like a cannon in the small room.

“NO!”

Two more shots fired into Cooper, both of them from Dakota’s gun. A necessary but often unused part of Dakota’s missions—who knew what could happen in an unfamiliar time?—but Dakota had never been more grateful to have it on him now.

“Cavendish!”

He refused to believe that the worst had happened. He refused. This couldn’t be happening. This just had to be a bad dream.

But no one moved, and Dakota felt the breath in his lungs turn to ice. He had to will his heart to beat again, to jump-start his mind out of frozen incredulity.

“Cav?”

Finally able to move he rushed over and knelt on the floor, pulling Cavendish away from Cooper. He bent over the criminal for a moment and extricated the pistol from Cooper’s hand. No pulse, but he couldn’t care less that he had actually shot and killed someone. His eyes were on the still form of his partner. His friend.

He had met the face of death too many times before—all of which had been during the timeline of the Mississippi Purchase—but he’d never dreamed that he’d be facing it again. Not now. Not like this.

Dakota frantically searched for a pulse along the neck and wrist of his inert friend. No breath. No heartbeat. The gaping, bloody hole in his chest (contrasting heavily against the dull green of his suit jacket) was graphic testimony of a fatal wound. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t.

“Come on, Balthazar, breathe,” he pleaded, his voice cracking and bordering on a sob. “Don’t do this to me. Breathe!” He shook Cavendish the way that one should never shake an injured person but the way that Cavendish’s head lolled from side to side (lifeless) drove him to near hysteria. “Don’t do this. Please!”

_No. Not Cavendish._

_Not my partner._

Dakota’s shoulders began to shake with silent sobs of grief, bile building up in his throat. He knew that he ought to look away, that he ought to restrain himself, but he couldn’t do anything but cry.

Blue eyes stared up at him, empty. The ghost of determination and surprise was still etched on his face.

Dead. His partner was dead.

_He died saving my life._

“Oh God, Balthy…” Dakota’s voice broke and he didn’t bother to stop the tears. There was no one left to see him cry.

_No—God—not him._

He didn’t know how long he knelt there in the dimly lit living room, Cavendish’s still form on his right and Cooper’s body on his left. It could have been days, years, several small eternities, and he couldn’t move.

 _Complete the mission, Dakota._  The voice in his head sounded like Cavendish and he released a sob again.  _You have to complete the mission._

Return Cooper and the goods to the future. They’d planned for that. But they had not planned for Cavendish’s life to end.

Sniffling, he took out his temporal transporter and started to set the time back—or rather forward—to 2175, and then the realization hit him so fiercely and suddenly that he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Or shot in the chest.

He could go back in time. He could fix this. He could prevent this awful event from happening.

No. There was no hesitation about it. He would do it. He wouldn’t mess up. No matter how many times it took, he would fix this. He would bring his partner back or die trying.

“I’m going to save you, Cav.” Dakota’s voice was quiet and hoarse but it still bounced off the walls of the empty living room. “I promise.”

And with one last look at his inert partner, Dakota disappeared from the room and went back to their vehicle, ready to travel back in time.


End file.
